Leaving Uganda

Leaving Uganda

Finally after 72 sleepless hours, three flights, and four countries, I have arrived to my destination Santo Domingo, Domincan Republic. I knew that leaving Uganda was going to be difficult, but I did not realize it was going to be as hard as it was. I cried for the majority of my flight from Entebbe to London and I feel like I left a little bit of my soul and a lot of my heart in Uganda. As I was checking my bags at the airport in Entebbe tears were streaming down my face and the woman helping me asked, "Dia, what is the problem?" My tearful, shaky voice expressed "I don't want to leave this country. I can't leave this country." She joyfully replied, "Sweetheart, you can leave this country because you can come back and I know you will." She is right. I will return to Uganda, for I feel my time there wasn't enough and my work there is not done. My life will never be the same, now that I have been to Uganda. The people, the culture, and the landscape have all been the most extraordinary and beautiful things I have ever experienced. Now that I have left the country I can interpret things slightly better. The humbleness and kindness of the people is something I don't think exists in many other places in the world and that alone is something to make a country proud, unique, and ultimately ideal. It's no wonder the one man I ever fell in love with comes from this country.

A few days before my leaving Uganda, I told my mom about Fina (Josephine), who was one of my most beloved students. This girl is 12 yrs. old, extremely bright and intelligent, and just an extraordinary individual. I see so much potential for success in this child;however, due to her families economical status she will never be able to recieve the proper education or attend university. Josephine dreams of becoming a nurse. A nurse makes 150,000 Ugandan Shillings/month, which is approximently $75 and this is considered a good job. After telling Jospehine's story to my mom, we decided to sponsor Josephine so she can attend boarding school and make her dream a reality. The program head told Josephine we would be coming to her home to speak with her family about something. Curiously, Josephine asked about what and the program head just told her it would make her parents very happy. The next day we travelled by foot for an hour and half to Josephine's home where they had prepared a four course meal for us, complete with meat, fresh corn, jackfruit, and sodas. All of which, are luxuries in the village. After eating and feeling like we were going to explode, we told Josephine's family about the sponsorhip.The whole family (mother, father, and ten children, which includes two sets of twins, a blessing in Buganda culture) began clapping and the mother could not stop crying. The family called for the village priest who performed a prayer service for my family and Josephine. Josephine's mother and father profusely expressed gratitude and told me that I will forever be Josephine's second mother and tht my family and I are always welcome to their home. It was an unforgettable exchange of kindness and I have promised to visit Jospehine at least once a year. The morning of my departure Josephine arrived at my home at 8am with a basket filled with avocados, corn, passion fruit, and mangos. She wouldn't let go of my hand and asked me to take her to California with me. I smiled at Josephine and hugged her tightly and then I put on my sunglases to hide the tears that were forming in my eyes. I didn't say goodbye because I know I will see her many more times.

Slashing, Mohawks, Rats, and, of course, Local Transport

Slashing, Mohawks, Rats, and, of course, Local Transport

I am reaching the end of my stay here in Uganda and myu heart aches. The thought of leaving behind all the children, adults, and genuine friends that I have met seems tragic. My life feels blessed to have had this experience due to so many things: the kindness, the interactions, the relationships, and most of all, the laughter and humor that exists in everything that happens. Let me share with you, just that, the numerous accounts of laughter and humor I have had throughout the past few weeks.

There are so many to choose from, like the time I was left alone on the farm with a dying duck, a crazed goat stuck in a fence, and turkeys on a rampage that forced me to lock myself in a room for 2 hours in fear of my life. Or the time I was left to watch over a 4 month old baby who managed to pee on me 4 times and laughed after each time. Or perhaps I could write about the time a fellow volunteer was puking in the bushes from food poisoning, and Fred freaked out, running into the banana plantations, disappearing for 2 hours, only to return with an array of herbs for the volunteer to chew on, which would, of course, cure him. But I must choose, the funniest of these, to share, retell, and relive, even if it is a little traumatic.

I will begin with my continued experiences cultivating the land. It was just as I had mastered the shovel, and the digging that was to be accomplished with it, when I was thrown for a loop and told we would now begin slashing the land. I was handed a long machete type tool and instructed to cut the grass and weeds with it. I did manage to cut the grass, but I also managed to loose control of the slasher sending it flying, slashing the ankle of Fred. He wasn't angry, he just laughed saying "Oh, Muzungu". Luckily, the slash only drew a small amount of blood and left a memorable bruise. I continued to slash, determined to master this tool as well. Before long I became so involved with my slashing, listening to my ipod, and dancing, I was completely unaware of the audience I had drawn from the road. I completed my task and looked up to find many children, dressed in school uniforms, clapping and chanting, "Muzungu, Muzungu". It was a funny moment for all of us. My hands were bleeding, my body ached, and my shirt was sopping from sweat. Fred refuses to let me slash again until my hands heal.

Now onto the mohawk. A fellow volunteer had the brillant idea of getting a mohawk in the village barber shop. We ventured 2 miles to the shop with three translators in hopes to convey the style he wanted to achieve. The barber was terrified as not only had he never cut a white person's hair, but understandably had never heard of or seen a mohawk. The man tried his best and three hours later, Phil left the chair with what resembles a mohawk, and the barber let out a huge sigh of relief.

I can't leave out my rat encounter the other night which lasted from 9pm till 4am. I was exhausted from the day and crawled into bed around 8pm, only to be woken up an hour later with a rat staring in my face. I screamed and hit the disgusting rodent off my bed and it scurried quickly through the crack in the door. I thought it was just a random occurrence and I made sure to secure the door and the window, checking every last corner of the room for morsels of food that may have attracted the creature. I fell back into bed, tucking my feet into the cover, and curling in a ball. Just as I felt comfortable again and safe enough to close my eyes, another one ran up the post of the bed, then 15 minutes later another ran across my feet, then across my pillow. This went on for 6 hours, with boughts of screaming, fits, cursing, and yelling on my part. I attempted everything to keep them out: beathing them with shoes (I could never make contact), spraying insect repellant everywhere, and blocking the crack in the door with books. Absolutely nothing was successful and finally at 4am I cried myself to sleep. The next day I went straight from bed to the store and purchased 5 bags of rat poison that I scattered generously througout the room. I have not seen a rat since.

Finally, I couldn't end a blog without a story about local transport. I had travelled comfortably to Masaka, by comfortably I mean squeezed into a 3 person seat that was occupied by 6 people. But compared to the ride back this was luxury. Now a trip to Masaka should really only take 30 minutes but it consistently takes 1-2 hours for one reason or another. On the way back I resisted taking a mini-bus and hopped into a taxi car, which I thought would save me time. Initially, I was given the front passenger seat to myself, but just as I was relaxed we pulled over and the driver shoved ten people in the car. There were six people, a goat and a chicken in the back of the car and four people in the front, mind you we are in a toyota corolla circa 1978. I am now wedged between two men, straddling the gear shift with a parking break up my ass. I keep reassuring myself with internal dialogue, repeating "We're almost there, we're almost there". Suddenly, the driver steers off the main road onto a dirt road and now I start to freak out. With a shaky voice, I am asking the driver "Where are we going?". His lack of English leaves his response to a chuckle. The man sitting next to me, who conveniently has his arm wrapped around me, is kind enough to translate to the driver and then translates back to me that he just wants me to see Uganda. Shortly after the tour/detour, we return to the main rod and pick up yet, another passenger. These detours continue three more times before the driver can no longer reach the gear shift and genuinely asks me to shift for him, leaving me with no instruction but hand gestures. I cluelessly attempt to shift as he tries to time the clutch, which makes the car stall, causing a traffic jam, but no accident. Of course, the driver laughs instead of getting angry and manages to get us moving again. Finally, I reach my destination and crawl out of the chaos, leaving the entire car in hysterics. It was just another experience with African transport.

The country functions off of controlled chaos and I absolutely love it!

Generosity

Generosity

Each day is better than the previous: more work gets done, the volunteer team grows stronger, and my bond with the children becomes closer. All of this is fabulous, I just know it will make it that much harder to leave. Anyway, I will live in the moment and save the tearful goodbyes for December 12th.

Yesterday, two more volunteers arrived, both from the United States. I'm excited to have two more team members, but, I sometimes feel so frustrated listening to the dialogue that occurs between western volunteers when all the locals are not present. I just listen and think to myself: you came here to do good and learn, yet, the very people you are suppose to be helping you are ridiculing and criticizing behind their back. How could you possibly do good if subconciously you think these people live like animals? You Can't! And while this righteousness infuriates me, on a greater, deeper level it saddens me. One volunteer stormed out of the house, ranting about how angry it makes her to see a 10 yr. old looking after her 6 mth. old sister. It's a challenge not to criticize a culture based on Western ideals. However, when one chooses to travel to a land and culture different from their own it is essential to understand life through the eyes of the very people you are living right next to. Very few cultures besides Americans value independence. Most cultures value interdependence and one is not better than the other. It is simply just a difference in culture. There are so many reasons why things are the way they are: culture, economy, survival, etc. Perhaps, this 10 yr. old girl has to watch over her sister because both the mother and father are working on the farm to cultivate the land and crops that need to be sold at the local market, so the family can make a sustainable incomes that ensures survival. Instead of looking at thow little people have or the disadvantages they encounter, I try to look at how much they do have. Every family, every person, every individual, everyone in the entire world has something you don't have, so embrace it, learn from it, and share, share, share with one another. Don't use poverty to feel better about your life or to feel lucky. Look at what these people have, how they live, what they value, and most of all, what makes them happy. I'm writing this down because these are all things I need to constantly remind myself of. Each day is a new lesson!

Onto the sequence of events that have occurred over the past few days. I have finally got myself into the habit of running again and the other day when I ventured out on a morning run through the banana plantations, underneath mango and avocado trees, passing pineapple plants, I found myself sharing the path with a young boy, 7 yrs. or so. He continued with me for about 15 minutes before I stopped and asked him if he needed something. He responded "I'm fine. How are you?". I think he assumed I asked How are you?. I simplified my language and said "What do you want?" To some, I may have sounded rude, but I knew he would understand me better if I was more direct. He took my hand and said "I want you to educate me." I was dumbfounded, my mind racing, thinking I do want to educate him, but how? It was then I had a revelation, I can't change the world. I can do what I can, one step at a time. My hand reached for his and I said "If you want to learn, you will learn." I'd like to believe in this myself and I'd like to think he understood me. I don't know though. I do know that it just inspired me to keep doing what I am doing.

Apart from that for the past 3 days, I have had children and families visit me at the farm to bring me gifts of thanks. I had just finished my shower (sponge bath) and I still have not managed to save enough water to wash all the shampoo out of my hair, so often I exit the shower, dirtier than when I entered; however, it's beside the point, so I was saying, as I climbed out of the shower, I hear my name being called. Throwing clothes on, I run outside to have Ja Ja tell me someone has come to see me. As I turn the corner, I find the grandmother of one of my students , who brought me a whole bunch of bananas for matoke (traditional dish), standing there smiling. I couldn't express my appreciation to her enough and she felt she couldn't express her appreciation either, that is why she brought me this gift of thanks. This conversation between the two of us took place through variations of hand gestures, signs of affection and translation done by a middle man. The woman was ecstatic to have her photo taken and I was thrilled to have a visual memory of this moment. All I could think of was this woman came from a village 20 minutes away, barefoot, carrying 30 lbs. of bananas. This simple act was so meaningful in its context. How do you even express thanks? In addition to this act of kindness, I have had children bring me corn, eggs, and pineapples just to say thank you, thank you for coming to my country and teaching me and all I can say is thank you for having me. I'm speechless!

Uganda Reality

Uganda Reality

I cried yesterday. I was squatting over a hole peeing, with 50 ants swarming around me, and I cried. This past week and a half has been intense and emotionally draining. I figure if I can hold it together and keep my strength while I am interacting with the community, it's okay if I shed a few tears in the outhouse. But the amazing thing is, the tears never last long because there is always someone, child or adult, local or volunteer, to wipe them away and put a smile on my face.

My life could have never prepared me for these past three weeks and it would have been foolish for me to have set expectations for my experience. Thus, I came to Uganda as a blank slate hoping to absorb, learn, teach, and exchange culture, life and knowledge. I already feel fulfilled and satisfied. But more so, I feel gratitude towards the people that I have encountered so far and have opened my mind, heart, and soul to a world, a community, that I had heard so many stories about but, truly never knew existed. I think that may be my greatest struggle, trying to emulate life here through my words on this blog. It's virtually impossible for me to explain the rawness of my experiences, the kindness of the people I have met, and the reality of everday life. However, I refuse to give up, and each time I sit down to reflect and relive the ups and downs of each day, I will do my best to show you, to show what it is like here.

Often people view Africa as a land filled with mask wearing tribes who live in huts amongst wild animals like lions, elephants, hippos and giraffe. While I can't shed light on the mystery of Africa as whole, because I am in Uganda, which is just one of the many countries that make up this continent, I can shed light on my experiences which are so far from the percieved notions people have of this land. The only animals I have seen are the ones that are tied up and penned at our farm, despite the occasional monkey. In fact, if I wanted to see a lion or elephant I would have to travel to a closed in National Park and pay a ridiculous fee. As far as, mask wearing tribes, have not seen it yet. I have travelled to many villages and sat in the living rooms of many families, whose homes are built of brick and stucco. You may even be surprised to know that we have a computer center with internet at our school and everyone has a cell phone. This is Uganda, a civilized nation, with people who have hopes and dreams and struggle to survive just as we do in California.

I have reiterated what I have not seen. Now let me express what I have seen. We have continued with our family outreach and it is this work that I love the most. Yesterday, we visited three families, all of whom, were thrilled to have us in their homes. The first family consisted of nine children, a single father, and a mother who had passed to AIDS. The father is also sick with AIDS, but watching the 60 yr. old man digging in the field under the penetrating sun, not even breaking a sweat, you never would believe he was infected with this disease. None of the children have been tested for HIV. The next family was a single mother, living with her mother, who has 5 children. Her oldest daughter (6), who is in our program, is fatherless because the mother was raped. None of the children nor the mother have been tested for HIV. I suggested to the program head that we have a clinic sponsor HIV testing at our school for the community and that is something we will begin to work on in our next meeting. I have a meeting today with a local clinic to hopefully set something up. Ok, then the third family that we visited, lived in a large house with an extensive farm. There were 7 biological children and 5 orphans that the mother and father had taken in. They said their biggest struggle was affording school fees for all of their children and the children they have taken in. The mother expressed to us that it was just her responsibility as a community member to take in these children. In her eyes, God left her with no choice and blessed her with these lives. The kindness, mentality and the way of being these people emulate is extraordinary. This is what I mean when I say I feel saddened by certain experiences (1st two families) and then I feel enlightened by the smile someone puts on my face (this extraordinary woman). I'm Inspired, Inspired to be kind, Inspired to be selfless, Inspired to make a difference, Inspired to take social responsibility. The intensity of emotion that is evoked just from having one conversation with a complete stranger is like nothing I have experienced before. It makes me believe again in the power and strength we all hold inside ourselves, it is time to stop repressing it.

I have to end this entry on a humerous note and I will do that by retelling my latest "incident" on the farm. It's 6am and I'm awake. Everyone is awake because that's just how it is on a farm with 5 roosters. The roosters start crowing and they don't stop until everyone is awake. They even go as far as to stand outside your bedroom door crowing and pecking at the door with their beak (no lie!). Over morning tea I am informed that today we would be lanscaping, digging, and cultivating the land. I knew this was coming and was dreading the day it would actually happen. Embarassment starts to rise inside of me before we even begin. I start asking Fred questions or more excuses like, "Doesn't the database for the orphanage need to get done?" He just laughs and I say "F#$% It". I came to Uganda to do as the Ugandans, so I lace up my boots, mind you everyone else is in sandals, but I cannot be that local. I did keep my earrings, bracelets, and rings on though! We head down and 15 minutes into the "incident" I've already broken a shovel and am now being charged at by a bull. Inevitably, I start freaking out and three of the other guys runs over and grab the bull by the neck, kick him, and off he goes. I'm still shaking, all my morals on animal abuse fly out the window, and I'm thanking them profusely for saving my life. Typical response, the same I get when the turkeys attack, "he won't hurt you. Harmless. He's harmless." Yeah Right! We continue with our work and despite the three freshly planted trees (I thought they were weeds) I dug up, it was a success. I farmed and came out alive with only 4 blisters. I can't wait till 6am tommorow morning.

Random Act of Kindness

Random Act of Kindness

As I sit here in Uganda, I am desperately searching for the words to paint a detailed, accurate picture of this extraordinary country. I want to describe everything, but perfectly. I realize that words do no justice to the encounters I have each day, the people I meet, or the experiences I endure. However, I will do my best to portray my life here through photos and retelling and reliving my experiences thus far.

I have traveled to the city for the weekend, as we have finished our work in the village for the week. Now that I have gone back and forth from the village to the city, I think I am gaining a better perspective of what life here in Uganda is actually like. I try to make an effort to chat with everyone I come in contact with. Staying here at the hostel is unique because I have met so many people from all walks of life, both travellers and locals, volunteers and businessmen, partiers and humanitarians. Everyone is here for a different purpose and reason, but everyone asks the same question: "People are so poor here, but why is everyone so happy?". I wonder the same thing when I walk through the villages and see women sitting on the dirt floor of their home, fingers bleeding, with babies drinking milk from their breasts, smiling, laughing, and chatting with their neighbor, who is doing the same thing. I wonder about this happiness when my students enter class, no shoes, torn shirt, 15 minutes late. When I ask them about their tardiness they chuckle and say "Sorry, I was biking from Kalisizo. Kalisizo is a village 40 km from our school. I think about the misery I would feel if this was my daily life at home in California. But here I have come to understand what a waste of energy being unhappy is. I think each day of life is valued so much here because life is so unpredictable. There is no time to waste energy on stress or sadness. I must learn from these people to value and respect my life in the same manner.

I would like to share a moment of kindness I experienced from a complete stranger on the bus ride from Masaka to Kampala. After my experience on the Matatu, I opted for the bus this time. While the speed was safer, the whole experience was just as unique. I have become intrigued with local transport as it is always a memorable experience. So here is what happened leading up to the act of kindness I shared with this stranger. Ok, so I asked Fred (local who works at school with me) where I could catch the bus to Kampala. He told me "Just walk to the bottom of the hill". I say "I didn't know there was a bus stop there". He looks at me entirely confused and says "There isn't". Now I am confused so i ask "Then what do I do." He looks at me again, but now as though I am from a different planet. In a sense, I am. He says "When you see the bus you want to take just wave them down." Alright, so I throw my backpack on, and hike to the bottom of the hill and wait for 30 minutes until I spot what looks like a "safe" bus. I wave it down and shout to the conducter, "Kampala?". The bus driver barely stops and as the conducter grabs my backpack, I jump on the bus as it is still moving. He points to a seat which required me stepping over suitcases, bags of potatoes, posho, and millet. I plop into my seat and I'm off onto another exciting and interesting journey to Kampala. Five minutes into the ride, the driver swerves to avoid a pot hole, but the back tire catches and the bus begins to tip. The girl, the complete stranger, sitting next to me screams and grabs my leg. I think, "Oh shit, you are not suppose to be scared, I am". We exchange empathetic smiles and I slouch in my seat, mentally preparing myself for another enduring trip. The bus continues to drive at a decent speed, slowing down as we approach villages to pick up passengers, regardless of whether or not there are available seats. I avoided breakfast back at the house, as I didn't think I could stomach another meal of fried ants and mashed bananas (matoke). Ok, imagine this....as we approach villages, all the passengers open the windows of the bus and the street vendors, what seems like hundreds, rush the bus, shoving sticks of goat meat, chapati (local bread), fried bananas, and bottles of water and passion fruit juice, through the windows for the passengers to purchase. As the bus begins to move again, the vendors (usually 10-12 yr. old boys) run along the side of the bus just to complete a transaction. It's an overwhelming experience, but my growling stomach urged me to muster up enough courage to buy a piece of chapati. I hand the boy 500 shillings and he returns just one piece of chapati. My ignorance and my want to avoid conflict, makes me assume it cost just that, 500 shillings (33 cents). The girl, complete stranger, sitting next to me starts yelling at the seller in Luganda and I wonder what is going on. She then proceeds to put her whole body out the window and grabs the boy's shirt. He hands her 400 shillings and she turns to me, handing me the money, saying "He cheat you. I help." I grab her hand and say "Webale", which means thank you in Luganda. She didn't have to do that, it was just a genuine act of kindness. I always feel so inspired by people's kindness, it makes me want to emulate this behavior. Blessings!

Kyetume: It's A Village, Not a City!

Kyetume: It's a village, not a city

I arrived in Kyetume on Monday. Kyetume is the village, four hours south of Kampala, where I will be staying, working, and volunteering for the rest of my time here in Uganda.

After the treacherous Matatu ride I decided to stay the night in Masaka to fill up on delicious African buffet, rest up, and venture to Kyetume in the morning. I had arranged for the volunteer program to pick me up from the hotel at 11am. At 12:30pm sharp, four of them arrived, seemingly unaware of the fact that they were an hour and a half late, and cheerfully greeted me, threw my luggage into the trunk of the Honda, and before I could even introduce myself we were off. Labarn assured me it's just "African time", shortly I became very familiar with this phrase. I find comfort in his explanations and normalizations of different occurrences. Without him I may be angry or upset and miss out on the values, riches, and depths of Ugandan culture.

It seems like forever before we finally reach Kyetume where we visit the orphanage before we travel to the house where I will be staying. As the car pulled up to the orphanage, all the children ran out to greet me, fighting to hold my hand. I spent some time playing and interacting with the children and then spoke with the program head, who informed me that most of the children were found on the street or in garbages and brought to the orphanage. In fact, the woman who cares for all of the orphans, Carol, is 18 yrs. old and was an orphan herself in this very same orphanage.

I felt both happy and sad after I left the orphanage. I saw both happiness and sadness in the eyes of the children and this evoked a mix of emotions inside of me as well. However, once we arrived at the home where I will be residing and met the family whom I will be living with, it was pure happiness surging through my blood. They are all lovely and there are so many of them, I am still learning their names. Amongst the family members there are tons of animals: cows, chickens, ducks, ducklings, pigs, piglets, goats, puppies, cats, and the turkeys. Oh the turkeys! The turkeys have attacked me once and chased me into the house numerous times. Only to hae Ja-Ja ceaselessly come to my rescue with a stick in hand. We are all just waiting for Christmas when they will be eaten. Despite the hole in the ground which is where we go to the bathroom, and the bucket of water, which is used for bathing, my home feels like home, full of comfort and love.

Yesterday, was my first "real" day of volunteer field work. We journeyed out to neighboring villages to do some outreach. This means we visited families homes of the children who attend our after-school program and do interviews to find out more about homelife. Most of the families only speak Luganda, so we ask the questions to the program head, who then performs translation for us. Some questions are quite sensitive, like questions about HIV/AIDS or other health concerns, so there are times of awkwardness.

As we sat in the dim two room home of one family, the father began to explain a disease his son fell ill of at a very young age. The father informed us that his son could not talk, walk, etc. In other words, he is entirely dependent on others for survival. The father paused in his explanation and went into the bedroom, pulling way the curtain that separated it from the sitting room and then pulled another curtain aside in the far corner, reaching down and grabbing his son. He returned to the sitting room with his son and placed him on the floor at our feet. He wanted us to meet his son. After only five minutes, he returned him to his curtained off corner.

Initially, I felt saddened by this, but then had to remember to look at the greater picture and how culture and lifestyle play a role in why thing like this happen. While most days are spent doing outreach, I spend the evenings teaching in the after-school program and I've already fallen in love with one of my students, vibrant Josephine.

Kampala: It's A City, Not A Village

Kampala: It's a city not a village

I don't know how to begin to describe this city, as it is filled with everything you could ask for (fancy restaurants, bars, nightclubs, internet, cinema, etc.) and more (street vendors, crafts markets, herbal medicine expeditions, etc.) They even have electricity, really!

My first week spent in Kampala was superb and I was fortunate enough to have my own private, local tour guide (Leuben's brother). I experienced everything wonderful local like eating food from street vendors, frequenting the most local pubs where Muzungu's just don't go and dancing till the early hours of the morning beneath nothing more than banana trees and the stars. It may seem fantastical, surreal, or exotic. But it's just daily life. It's normal. It's Kampala.

Of course, there were also some normal, daily life, local things I experienced that were not so wonderful such as the boda-boda (motorcycle taxis) and the matatus (mini-bus taxis). My first and thus far only experience on a boda was necessary and cost efficient. But after I held on for dear life, pleading with the driver to slow down, I've decided to stick to private hire taxi or just my own reliable feet. We will see how long it is before I become too impatient to wait for a private hire and my feet prove to be unreliable. Then I suppose boda's will become my mode of transport. How much do helmet's cost? I may need a suit of armor as well.

Just the other day I was relaxing in the hostel bar with a chai and in came two girls, Muzungu's of course, scraped, frazzled, and disheveled, in hysterics, not of tears but laughter. I wondered about this and eavesdropped on the girls playback of what happened to each other.

Can you believe that pig just ran out in the road?

And then your boda smashed into mine as we rolled over the pig....

I can't believe neither driver was upset.

It's Kampala. It's normal.

continued giggles and laughter in between swigs of bell

Now I wonder if one day I will get thrown off a boda and find humor in it. As of now, I find it highly unlikely.

The matatu, I think, may have been worse than the boda. I felt as though I was in a death trap for three hours from Kampala to Masaka. I am not exaggerating when I say the experience, journey, whatever it was, is almost too traumatic for me to relive, but I will for the sake of this blog. Matatu's are vans, similar to Volkswagon vans, with four rows, including the row of the driver. I was one of the twenty-two people crammed into that little van, discounting the three babies on laps, 15+ suitcases shoved in any open space, 20 lb. bags of chicken feed, and chickens tied up so they had no use of their feet or wings. It took three hours of waiting in the taxi park for the van to fill up and then another three hours to get to my destination, Masaka. For the mathematically illiterate people, such as myself, that's six hours to travel a distance of approximately 120 miles.

Our journey began pleasantly, despite my seat which I was sharing with two other people, that is until we left the city and jumped onto a two-way, paved but filled with potholes road. The driver never went below 85 mph and at times I felt like we were either going to head on collide or tip off the road. My heart would slightly stop pounding as we came to a screeching halt in each village where passengers would get off with their suitcases in one hand and koko's in the other. It felt like a moment of peace and safety even though very few villages had enough electricity to see what was going on (the sun had set by this time) and it was my senses I started to rely on to know what the vendors were selling as their hands stuck through the window into your "private" space. But as soon as we were back on the road and the speed picked up, my heart was back to pounding and it did not stop until we reached another village. You can imagine how relieved I was to reach my final destination. I will leave bodas and matatus to the locals, for now.

People are poor here and struggle a lot, to live, to eat, to survive. But rarely will you find a beggar or a persistent street vendor in the streets of Kampala. There is dignity, value, and respect. I think that is very telling of this culture. It is something that I value and that I highly respect. I am thrilled to experience Ugandan culture for this short period of time in my life.

The beginning of my love affair....

The beginning of my love affair....

It was before I even stepped foot in this country when my love affair with Uganda began. Now I won't have to wonder with visionary images of this pearl, since I am blessed to be experiencing it first hand. The people here are absolutely amazing and genuinely kind. While yes, you do have to have your guard up as there are cons everywhere, my experience thus far has just been true. I was fortunate to be seated next to a Ugandan on my flight from London to Entebbe, and it was that moment that I knew Uganda is where I am suppose to be right now. As we arrived in Entebbe and departed the plane, we walked straight out onto the runway, breathing in the fresh air, which I had been deprived of for some 30 hours now, being stuck in airports. I wanted to act calm and collected but my friend from the plane saw the excitement in my eyes and he teased me saying, "I know you just want to get down on your knees and kiss the mother land". He was right, but of course I didn't and just took advantage of the opportunity to observe my first few moments in Uganda. I was kindly greeted at the airport with John from my hotel who drove me for 45 minutes from Entebbe to Kampala. Immediately I noticed the amount of children and happiness amongst people. I commented on this to John and he chuckled, saying "This is Uganda. We love children and we love each other. What is there to be pissed about?" I was as happily greeted at my hotel and Henry was eager to run downtown to buy me a calling card and bottled water, at no extra cost. My first moments, were priceless and set the tone for the next six weeks I will spend here. I love Uganda! Stay tuned and I will upload photos soon!